Redfire: The Story of a Dragonborn
by DragonofEastwinds
Summary: Saqho-yol has had a bit of trouble in her homeland of Hammerfell. A couple of Alik'r have been following her. Now, she's gotten herself over the border of Skyrim, and in way over her head. This is the story of a Redguard Dragonborn.
1. Chapter 1: Out of Hammerfell

**Chapter One**

**Fredas, 14****th**** of Last Seed, 4E 201, Hammerfell, Noon-ish**

_ I'm on my way to Morrowind from my home in Skaven. I was actually on my way to Elinhir, but had a disagreement with a few Alik'r there, and have since moved on. I'm just outside of Elinhir at the moment, and I found this journal in the bottom of my pack, under my great grandmother's journal. I have since forgotten what I might have gotten it for, but I guess, starting now, I 'll record my journey to Morrowind and my adventures there._

_ My great grandmother, Ven'Aak, used to keep a journal when she lived in Cyrodiil. She died, of course, and her journal went to her son, my grandfather, Lok'Vahl. I don't think I'll ever be as famous, or infamous, as Ven'Aak, or even my great grandfather, Martin. He died before Lok'Vahl was born. Moral of the story, don't mess with Daedra. Anyway, Great Granny Ven'Aak was actually a member of the Blades back in the day. As for me, I'm just an adventure seeker. I probably won't be written down in any historical prints any time soon._

_ The sun is moving on from noon, so, my break is over. The Alik'r will be looking for me soon. _

_S__a__q__ho-__Y__ol_

Saqho-yol stowed her journal back in her belt-bag and shrugged on her cloak. She slung her tavel bag over har shoulders and set off with a glance through the trees at the city of Elinhir, ice blue eyes flashing. She took about twelve paces before she came to the road, and realized she was now mostly lost.

She fished in her travel bag and brought out three maps: one of Hammerfell, one of Skyrim, and one of Cyrodiil. She quickly figured not to go through Cyrodiil – too many Imperial Soldiers would wonder why she had the skin of a Redguard but the face of an Imperial, a long story she had no time, and would probably be imprisoned, for. She stashed the map back in her bag and turned her attention to Skyrim. The first thing she noticed was a road that ran through south Skyrim, from Hammerfell to Morrowind almost directly. The proximity of Elinhir to Falkreath made her hopeful. She'd be at the border in about a day.

"Excuse me," came a too-familiar voice from somewhere to her left. She didn't look, up, stashing the maps back into her bags.

"Hey, you with the cloak, are you in a hurry?" he said again.

Saqho-yol looked up just enough to see the two Alik'r warriors walking down the road. She kept the left side of her face covered by the hood of her cloak.

"Can I help you?" she said, mimicing a Nordic accent to the best of her ability.

"Actually, I think you can," the one on the right said, "have you seen a Redguard come up this way? Looks like an Imperial, eyes like a Nord, and three scars under her eye?"

Saqho-yol stood carefully, slouching slightly to try and hide her height – and the hilt of her scimitar – and turned away from the two Alik'r.

"No, I'm sure I haven't. Have a nice day, you two." She waved over her shoulder, and tried not to take off running.

Unfortunately, the Alik'r didn't buy it. They were at her back in an instant, and one of them tugged her hood off. Saqho-yol glanced over her left shoulder, and ran. Even over her boots slapping the ground she could hear the sound of scraping metal. She didn't reach for her own sword – carrying it and running would just slow her down – but instead broke into a sprint and headed into the woods. She wouldn't be able to keep up the pace for very long.

Before she could worry about it much, Saqho-yol came to a cliff, and halted dead in her tracks. It was a sheer drop, with very few rocks on the way down. She looked behind her, she didn't see the Alik'r, but she could hear them thrashing through the pines. She looked down the cliff again, and jumped for the first closest rock.

She landed hard. Her foot slipped off the edge, and she fell. She hit the ground on all fours with a grunt of pain. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her vision blurred slightly. She figured she must have just broken something, but then realized that the air had been knocked out of her, and she gasped. She heard the Alik'rs' boots scudding on the edge of the rock at the top of the cliff, shuffled herself under a very small outcropping, and waited, still trying to wheeze air into her shocked lungs.

"She must've gone a different way." She heard, muffled, from the top of the cliff. Some trick of acoustics made the voice sound like they were right in front of her.

"Yeah, probably followed that game trail back there."

Saqho-yol held her breath – it wasn't hard – until she heard the shuffling of boots break into a run and fade off. She didn't breathe again until the sound was gone completely.

Rolling out from under the rock, she breathed a sigh of relief, and cast a small healing spell on herself. Saqho-yol wasn't much of a Restorationist, or any kind of mage at all for that matter, but she knew at least the basics. She sat up slowly, still not fully healed from the fall. She tested her legs carefully. She could still walk, thank the Nine, but she had a bit of a limp and couldn't run quite as fast as she'd like.

To make matters worse, she now had no idea how to get back to the main road. She looked up the cliff face and briefly considered climbing it. The idea of slipping again, this time potentially to her death, gave her serious pause.

The sound of footfalls in sand and grass at the top of the cliff decided it for her. Saqho-yol glanced at which way the sun was sinking to determine west, and struck off along the base of the cliff in the opposite direction. Hopefully, she'd either find Falkreath or the road if she went along long enough. It was already mid-afternoon; she took longer than she would have liked with the maps and the healing.

By the time dusk fell, Saqho-yol was fairly certain she'd lost the Alik'r, but she'd gained a new problem: up ahead, settled into a clearing, was some kind of camp. Probably military, she decided, based on the horses and the number of tents.

For now, she ignored them, and went a bit backward into the woods to a clearing she'd seen earlier. She quickly made a small fire and unhooked the bedroll from the bottom of her pack. After a few attempts at sleep, she gave up and took out her journal.

**Loredas, 15****th**** of Last Seed, 4E 201, Skyrim Border, slightly past midnight**

_ Been walking all day, and I couldn't get a break from the Alik'r until about an hour before sunset. Oh well. I am a little ways off from some kind of military camp or something. I can't tell if they're Imperials, Alik'r, or just brigands. There are about ten that I've been able to count, but, I'm not looking to hard._

_ I have come to the border of Skyrim, I think. For some reason, I feel a bit anxious, excited, and maybe even afraid to start the probably short journey across the south end of the province. I hope that I'm somewhere southwest of Falkreath, or if not, at least close to the road. My plan is to wait until the soldiers are distracted, and slip past them to try and find said road. Then, I'll need to head notheast toward Helgen. _

_S__a__q__ho-__Y__ol_

Saqho-yol looked up, tense, when she heard a rustle in the bushes just beyond the light of her small fire. Her hand immediately went to her scimitar. She waited.

"So, are you an Imperial?" Came a man's voice from the same location as the rustle. A mid-sized guy, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a bit of a beard, stepped into the light with his palms out. Definitely a Nord.

"No. I'm a Redguard." Saqho-yol replied, rather coldly. Rumor had it that Nords were a pretentious folk, and didn't care much for outsiders.

"My name's Ralof, traveler," He said, stepping closer, "What are you doing camped out so close to us?"

She eyed the Nord warily, trying to decide how much to tell him. Ralof looked around anxiously.

"I'm trying to find out if you're a spy for the Empire. Jarl Ulfric sent archers out when he saw your campfire, and they have their bows aimed at you." He whispered.

"I'm not a spy, I just settled over here because I couldn't tell if you were Imperials or Alik'r or what." Saqho-yol finally said.

Ralof let out a breath and called loudly, "She's a Redguard, and just as suspicous as us of the Imperials." Over the sighing of the wind in the trees, she heard several small knocks of wood on wood as arrows were put back into quivers.

"Look, I'm sorry for the trouble. You can stay here, if you want..." Ralof said, eyeing the cliff above them, "Or you can come stay in the camp. Saftey in numbers and all that."

She considered for a few minutes, Ralof stood patiently, waiting. Finally, Saqho-yol nodded, and gathered her things for the short trek to Ralof's camp. She stomped out the fire and motioned for the Nord to lead the way.

When Ralof and Saqho-yol stepped into camp, a man in a big fur cloak looked up at them, and scowled.

"What do we have here, Ralof?" he said, in a deep, semi-monotone voice.

"This is..." Ralof started, turning to Saqho-yol.

"My name is Saqho-Yol. I was just passing through." she finished.

"So, you brought a **Redguard** into a Stormcloak camp?" The fur-cloaked man's voice rose slightly in volume, and Ralof took a small step back. The Redguard in question held her ground.

"I asked her if she needed a place to camp out for the night, so she wouldn't get attacked by wolves in her sleep." He said, defensivly.

The man with the cloak stood up and turned away. "I'll let Galmar deal with you when we get back. For now, I'll be in my tent. Keep an eye on her."

Ralof let out a breath as the man ducked into a hide tent and let the door-flap down. He turned to Saqho-yol and shrugged.

"He's always like that. You might want to find a place out of the way to put your bedroll."

Saqho-yol nodded, she never said much unless she needed to, and picked a spot under a tree behind one of the tents. It would do well enough.

**Later**

_I was found by someone from the camp, says his name is Ralof. Apparently, it's a Stormcloak camp. Whatever that means. Ralof appears to be the only one here who is actually treating me like an adult and not some wild dog. I haven't been in Skyrim for half a day, and I already know that Nords do not like my kind. I will leave at dawn, if I have my way. Ralof is nice, but not _that _nice. _

_S__a__q__ho-__Y__ol_

Saqho-yol was awoken at just past dawn by the clattering of steel. She was immediately up and out of her bedroll, and was about to draw her sword when she realized she was in her bedclothes – basically rags – and her sword belt wasn't around her waist. She looked arround, crouching, sneaking around the side of the tent and assessing the situation.

Imperials.

The Stormcloaks were outnumbered at least three to one. Even if she helped, it wouldn't be enough to beat all of them. Worst case, they'd all die, best case they'd all be captured.

Saqho-yol looked back at her bedroll and her belongings. Quickly and quietly, she strapped on her sword belt, slipped on her cloak, and dashed away through the trees, probably toward the border. She ran out of breath too quickly, and half jogged, half stumbled the rest of the way to the road. Not paying any attention, she stopped on the cobblestones to catch her breath.

"Hey, we've got a Stormcloak over here!"

"Get her!"

The voices came all at once and Saqho-yol looked up sharply. Three Imperials were running at her, swords drawn. She backed up quickly, hand going immediately to her sword handle. Then, she considered: three of them, they were trained to fight, and she had no energy left from the sprint over.

She stopped, dread filling her gut, and raised her hands, palm out. The Imperials stopped, the leader sheathing his sword and walked toward her.

"Now, come along nice and easy, and we won't have to get rough, hmm?"

Saqho-yol resisted the urge to spit in his eye. Instead, she remained silent as the Imperial shucked off her cloak and her sword belt. After a brief inspection of her belt bag containing only the journal and a case of a few charcoals, he let her keep it. He was about to bind her hands, but was interrupted.

"Wait, she might have a knife in those boots, Captain," One of the other Imperials said.

At this, the 'Captain' pushed Saqho-yol onto a large rock and took off her boots. One of the other tossed her a pair of footwraps. Saqho-yol glared at him.

"Would you rather walk to the wagon in your bare feet, Redguard?" said the Captain.

Saqho-yol shrugged and tied the wraps around her ankles. The Captain proceeded to tie her hands roughly in front of her and shoved her along the road. She stumbled, and glared over her shoulder at him. The two other Imperials led the way, and Saqho-yol followed quietly and only at a slightly slower pace. She was tall, but didn't stretch her legs much – walking in footwraps was odd to her.

She got loaded into the back of an empty wagon, and was instructed to wait.

"So, why's a Redguard fighting with the Stormcloaks?"

The cart driver was greeted with a long silence. Saqho-yol had learned over the years to be a quiet person. Or rather, she learned not to talk unless she actually had something to say; a few rather embarrassing occurances in her youth saw to that.

The driver nodded and turned back to the horses. Not five minutes later, the rest of the Imperials came out of the woods, dragging the Stormcloaks along behind them. Ralof, the guy with the fur cloak – who now had a strong gag over his mouth – and a scruffy-looking man she hadn't seen at camp, got thrown into the cart with her. In the cart next to theirs, the only other one Saqho-yol could see, four more were tossed; a woman, two Nords, one with blonde hair and one with brown, and parhaps a Breton. She couldn't see any of their faces, at least not in detail. She heard the brown-haired one say something about, "that damned Kahjit."

The cart lurched into motion when the driver flicked the reighns, and they started up the road. Nobody talked, there was nothing really to say. A few times, the driver and Ralof had brief conversations, but as Ralof got more uncomfortable, the driver got more rude.

They traveled on through Falkreath, recognizable by the buck insignia on the flags, at about dusk. The carts had to stop for the night for reasons that Saqho-yol payed no attention to. She just lulled her head back to watch the stars. She'd never seen the Northern Lights before, and took it to be a good omen that it was so strong this south.

She didn't sleep much through the night. Fear of Imperials and thoughts of home kept her awake. She thought of how her Great Grandmother, Champion of Cyrodiil, started out as a common theif. Picking pockets and making shady deals to make ends meet. Eventually, she got caught, but on the first day of her imprisonment, the late Emperor had to make an escape through her cell. She eventually went on to basically save the world. Multiple times over. When she found herself pregnant, she settled down a bit.

Fate played tricks on people. Saqho-yol wondered if fate had brought her to Skyrim for some reason, by the simple expediant of, she was now branded as a criminal. _History reapeats itself, _she thought.

The next day, the Imperial Prison Escort set out late in the morning. Saqho-yol entertained herself most of the day by listening to the brown-haired Nord in the front cart tell stories of his former home in Cyrodiil. The other three weren't paying too much mind to him, but Saqho-yol kept comparing his descriptions to ones in Ven'Aak's journal.

Eventually, the brown-hair talked himself out, and fell silent. It was getting on to be dusk, and they were almost halfway to Helgen. Saqho-yol sighed and watched the trees pass in front of the clouds and darkening sky for a while, before the past days' lack of sleep caught up to her.


	2. Chapter 2: Helgen

**Chapter 2**

A particularly rough patch of road jolted Saqho-yol awake. It was about mid to early morning by the smell of the air. She sat up and looked around. She had no idea where they were.

"Hey, you," Ralof said, "You're finally awake."

Saqho-yol nodded ruefully.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

_Oh, the irony... _she thought.

From her right, the thief in question said, "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

Saqho-yol snorted a laugh and raised her eyebrow at the man.

"You there," he continued, "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief" Ralof spat.

The driver apparently gotten over his grudge in the night. "Shut up back there!"

Saqho-yol rolled her eyes. "Make us." She muttered.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief said, nodding at the guy in the fur cloak, sitting next to Saho-yol.

"Watch your tongue," Ralof hissed, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

The thief looked just as surprised as Saqho-yol felt.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion." he said.

She got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The thief gave voice to her thoughts.

"But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

Ralof sighed. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

Saqho-yol hung her head. "Damn." She muttered.

"No, this isn't happening, this can't be happening!" the thief looked around wildly.

"Quit your whining. It IS happening, unfortunately." Saqho-yol said. The carts were coming into view of a town wall. She felt like she should know where they were, but she'd never been to Skyrim in her life.

In a kinder voice, Ralof asked, "Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief paused for a few seconds, and then said, "Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

"I'm not a Nord," Saqho-yol added into the conversation for once, "But I'm from Skaven, in Hammerfell."

From somewhere down the road, an Imperial soldier shouted, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

The voice that was apparently this General replied, "Good. Let's get this over with."

"Bastard." Saqho-yol muttered.

The thief picked _that, _of all times, to start praying.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."

Saqho-yol looked over and snorted.

"Talos guard us." she said quietly.

As they came through the gate, a man in Imperial livery, saddled up on a horse came into view. He was talking with what must have been an Altmer.

"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governer," Ralof spat the name like it was a curse. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

Saqho-yol spat neatly over the side of the cart. "Thalmor, eh? Gods damn them and the Aldmeri Dominion."

Ralof looked at her with eyebrows raised.

"I've had more than my fair share of difficulties with their uptight asses already." She said. "They need to keep their noses out of Hammerfell's business."

Ralof nodded in appreciation, but didn't say anything. She looked around again, at the houses and flags.

"Where are we, anyway?" She asked.

"This is Helgen." Ralof said.

"Figures." She muttered, remembering that she was going to come through here anyway on her way to Morrowind.

Ralof continued with a smirk., "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

Saqho-yol smiled sadly at his nostalgia. "Agreed."

From a nearby house, Saqho-yol heard a young boy talking, or, arguing, with his father about the soldiers. She wasn't sure if her were talking about the Imperials, or the Stormcloaks.

"They always want to be soldiers when they grow up." She said softly.

The first cart was called to a stop, and another Imperial, a woman with a commanding, if rather arrogant sounding, voice, ordered the prisoners out of the carts.

The thief, always keen on the moment, asked, "Why are we stopping?"

Saqho-yol glared at him, but Ralof supplied the answer. "Why do you think? End of the line."

Nobody moved for a few moments. Saqho-yol watched the prisoners on the first cart slowly making their way off.

"Let's go," Ralof said, somehow proudly, "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

Saqho-yol stood with the others, her knees and thighs protesting at having been sitting down for so long. The thief, however, wasn't going to go quietly.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"You are now," She muttered at him.

"Face your death with some courage, thief" Ralof said from behind her. She chuckled rather wickedly.

"You've got to tell them," he continued, "We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

The woman who'd spoken before, the arrogant one, stood next to an Imperial with a clipboard.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." she said.

"Sir, yes, sir." Saqho-yol said with a smirk.

Ralof snorted a laugh. "Empire loves their damned lists."

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm." Said the guy with the clipboard. Ulfric walked proudly past the Captain and the list reader.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." Ralof said.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Saqho-yol watched as Ralof followed the Jarl toward the chopping block. "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Ralof." She said quietly. Ralof smiled sadly over his shoulder.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief stepped up to the Captain, desperation pitching his voice.

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!"

Lokir ran straight past the Captain as she yelled, "Halt!" Saqho-yol shook her head with a small smirk as she called the archers to the ready. Lokir the horse thief met the fate of a coward, an arrow in the back.

"Appropriate." She said, with an arched eyebrow.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the Captain stared directly at Saqho-yol. She kept her face in the same petulant, sarcastic expression. If she was going to go out, she was at least going to give the bastards a piece of her mind.

"No, sir. I feel like staying right here."

The woman glared at her, eye twitching slightly. The guy next to her looked up from his clipboard.

"Wait. You there. Step forward."

Saqho-yol's eyes never left the Captain's as she stepped up politely to the list reader.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Saqho-yol of Hammerfell. Great Grand-daughter of Ven'Aak, Champion of Cyrodiil."

The Captain looked vaguely surprised at this, but the list reader wasn't even listening to the last part.

"What are you doing here, Redguard? You a sellsword? A sailor from Stros M'kai?"

Saqho-yol's eyebrow twitched at the ignorance.

"Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list."

Apparently, not even relation to a legend preceded her. The Captain glared at her, and then turned to the list reader.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block." She was practically smirking.

"By your orders, Captain."

The list reader turned back to Saqho-yol. "I'm sorry. I'll make sure your ashes are returned to Hammerfell. Follow the captain, prisoner."

Prisoner. The word grated on every nerve as she spat at the Captain's feet before following her. She ended up standing next to the brown-haired Nord from the front cart. The one from Cyrodiil. Before she could say anything to him, General Tullius started speaking.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

_Excuse me, he did _what_? _

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

Out of nowhere, some kind of roar echoed off the mountains. It sounded almost like a large metal bar sliding against a stone. Saqho-yol looked to the sky, but she couldn't see anything over the guard tower in front of them.

Somehow, the list reader was on the same thought stream as she was.

"What was that?"

General Tullius crossed his arms and stood taller. He still looked shaken.

"It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius." The Captain sounded arrogant as ever. Turning to a priestess, she said, "Give them their last rites."

It sunk in, then, that this was really the end of the line. Saqho-yol mentally prayed to Akatosh to save her the way he'd saved Ven'Aak.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for y-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" The brown hair beside her interrupted.

The priestess stopped her recitation and lowered her hands. "As you wish."

The soldier stood in front of the block for a few seconds, and then shouted, "Come on, I haven't got all morning."

The Captain guided him to his knees with her hand, and then pushed his chest into the block with her foot. Even as she did, the brown-hair kept up his jabs at the guards.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

Saqho-yol thought about it. In all honesty, she wasn't sure if Van'Aak would be proud that she was facing her death with courage – at least more than Lokir had – or if she'd be rolling in her grave because she'd gotten caught with a band of Stormcloaks, and the leader of their rebellion.

As the ax came down on his head, Saqho-yol looked away, and whispered, "At least you died with your ancestors, Nord of Ven'Aak's home."

Around her, she heard various shouts and curses at the Imperials. She looked up at Ralof, who said, "As fearless in death, as he was in life."

"Next," called the Captain, "the Redguard!"

Saqho-yol looked up sharply, her mind playing the same phrase over and over again. _Akatosh, save me. _Then, another roar echoed through Helgen. Whatever was making it, it was getting closer.

"There it is again," said the list reader, "Did you hear that?"

Saqho-yol was about to answer, but the Captain interrupted. "I said, next prisoner!"

The list reader gave her a small pat on the shoulder. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

"Nice and easy my ass." She spat, but she went. She felt the Captain's hand on her back, and then her foot as her chest was rammed into the stone chopping block. She stared up at the executioner, and, with what she figured was her last breath, muttered, "_Kogaan, Akatosh_."

Just then, something huge, and blacker than the headsman's mask flew over the mountain.

"What in Oblivion is that?" Tullius shouted. Saqho-yol wasn't even paying attention to what the guards were shouting anymore. The headsman was knocked to the ground by the shockwave, when a dragon landed on the guard tower.

It roared, no, it shouted. Saqho-yol could barely make out words. Then, the force of the dragon's speech hit her like a sledgehammer, and she rolled away from the block. Her vision blurred, and her limbs wouldn't function. Her mind was reeling. Had Akatosh really answered her?

She heard words again, but they weren't coming from the dragon. It was Ralof.

"Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!"

Saqho-yol stumbled to her feet and found Ralof's shape amongst the general bur. He headed for the keep, and she stumbled blindly after him. Once inside, she stopped and let her vision adjust.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric sounded a bit huskier than usual.

The dragon roared again. _Yol... part of my name?_

"We need to move. Now!" Ulfric shouted.

Ralof looked at her and nodded to the stairs that she'd neglected to notice. "Up through the tower, let's go!"

She could barely hear him over the crashing outside, but followed Ralof up the stairs. The top was, unfortunately, blocked by a cave-in from the roof. The Stormcloak working on them was saying something about clearing a few more, when the dragon slammed it's enormous head through the wall.

"_Toor... Shul!_"

Flames burst into the room, and Saqho-yol ducked to avoid being toasted. She could almost understand the words. Almost. She looked up and out of the wall, into the blood-red eyes of the dragon, before it took off, away from the tower.

Ralof ran up beside her and pointed to a charred husk of a building.

"See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going."

Saqho-yol gave him a look of consternation. "Through there? But the dragon-"

"Go!" He interrupted, "We'll follow when we can!"

Saqho-yol nodded, stepped back a few paces, and launched her self out of the window. She landed with a _thunk_ on the floorboards, and grunted at the hard landing. Still, adrenaline kicked in and she bolted for a hole in the floor. She fell through, and looked around. An Imperial Soldier was protecting some townsfolk as best he could. One was a kid. She was about to run up and help the boy, but her hand binds and the dragon that had just landed on the other side made her run instead over to the older man.

"_Yol, toor, shul_!" The dragon shouted flame and nearly singed the soldier as he bolted for them.

"Still alive, prisoner?" It was the list reader. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."

She really didn't have much of a choice in the matter, he was trained to fight and her hands were still bound up in ropes.

Hadvar was talking to the older man with the boy. "I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar." said the old man. So that was his name.

Hadvar took off around the corner, and Saqho-yol followed as best she could. She kept one eye on the Imperial and one eye on the ground so as not to trip. They ran over a small bridge, and Hadvar shouted, "Stay close to the wall!"

She did, but she had been paying no attention. Suddenly, a loud _crash _echoed above them, and Saqho-yol froze in place. The tip of the dragon's wing was about a hair's breadth from her nose.

"_Toor, shul!"_ Flame blasted a few guards still shooting arrows.

The dragon took off again, the wind from the downdraft of it's wings blasting Saqho-yol almost to her knees.

"Quickly, follow me!" Hadvar shouted. She clambered after him, nearly tripping as she went. She didn't pay much attention to the clamor that was going on around her. At one point, someone shouted, "Die, dragon!" almost in her ear. Then they came through an arch, and there was Ralof.

"Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!" Saqho-yol ran past Hadvar, bumping him with her shoulder as she went, and stood proudly, but in a fighting stance, next to Ralof.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time." He said with a smirk.

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde." Hadvar cursed.

"It was nice knowing you too, list reader." Saqho-yol spat, just as the dragon flew over them.

Ralof ducked slightly. "You! Come on! Into the keep!" She followed without comment. The dragon was right on top of them now. It hovered, just before she ran into the keep, and it spoke to her.

"_Zu'u Alduin! Yol..."_ And she dashed through the doors.

Ralof immediately went for a downed companion of his. Saqho-yol stumbled after him. Shocked. _Alduin... that's his name. Alduin._ She thought.

Ralof stood up and looked around at her. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon, no doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends. Harbingers of the end times."

Saqho-yol looked at him sharply, but he just shook his head.

"We'd better get moving. Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off."

She stepped closer and held out her wrists. Carefully, Ralof took an iron dagger and sliced the ropes. Saqho-yol flexed her hands and her wrists. Being tied up for so long had her shoulders and elbows aching, and her wrists were red from where the ropes had chaffed.

"There you go." Ralof said. "May as well take Gunjar's gear, he won't be needing it any more."

Saqho-yol carefully stripped Gunjar's dead body of armor and weapons. It wasn't much, but Sahqo-yol thanked the Nine that none of it was badly damaged.

"Alright. Get that armor on, and give that ax a few swings. I'm going to see if I can find some way out of here." Ralof said, examining a door.

There was an ax, and while it was a weapon, it was not one she was used to. The armor was serviceable enough. A bit beat up, and a lot of fur, but, it fit, the belt locking in the last notch.

"Gods, I'm small. How do I look?" She said, brandishing the foreign weapon to the best of her ability. Ralof snickered, but nodded, and turned his attention back to the gate.

"This one's locked. Let's see about that gate." Ralof said, turning his attention to the barred gate across the room. Saqho-yol holstered the ax and went to inspect it with him. As she looked through the gate, voices came. No, just one. A stern, arrogant –

"Imperials! Take cover." Ralof hissed.

The two of them ducked next to the door, on either side. Sahqo-yol pulled out the ax and held it with both hands. From the other side of the gate, clanking footsteps approached.

"Let's get this gate open." Came the voice of the Captain. A couple of clanking sounds followed.

Saqho-yol was staying as quiet as possible. Unfortunately, the moss growing in the stone wall was tickling her nose, and she kept trying not to sniff. She didn't have long to wait though. The gate slid into the floor, and the Captain stepped into the room.

All the rage from the near-execution filled her, and Saqho-yol leaped forward. The ax she wielded buried itself in the Captain's left shoulder. Ralof took the soldiers behind her, and Saqho-yol finished the Captain with a blade to the helmet. Ralof finished off the soldiers, while Saqho-yol took the Captain's sword.

"Not so tough now, are you?" She hissed.

"Maybe one of these Imperials have the key." Ralof said, crouching to search the pockets of the two fallen. Saqho-yol found it on the Captain, and showed it to Ralof triumphantly.

"Did you find the key? Let's see if it unlocks that door." He ran to the other door, and Saqho-yol followed. The key fit the lock perfectly, and the door swung open with a shrill creak.

"That's it. Come on, let's get out of here before that dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads." Ralof took off down the hallway that led left of the door. Saqho-yol followed. They went down a flight of stairs and turned a corner, just as the dragon made a pass over the tower, and a huge section of the ceiling caved in front of them. The reverberations shook them, and Saqho-yol stumbled back.

"Damn." Ralof jogged over to the wreckage. "That dragon doesn't give up easy."

"Through here then." Saqho-yol said, and opened a door in the left of the passageway. There were voices coming from inside, and Saqho-yol charged in, sword drawn. Ralof was right behind her.

After a quick break to loot the room, the two of them continued on through two torture chambers, an cavern with Imperials stationed in it, over a wooden – and then broken by a cave-in – bridge, and a long cavernous tunnel with a small stream running through it. Then, a large room covered in nothing but spider silk and cobwebs. They dispatched the frostbite spiders with ease, if not a bit of girly shrieking. At least from Saqho-yol.

"I hate those things. To many eyes, you know?" Was Ralof's only comment.

In another cavern, Ralof stopped and crouched. In a patch of sunlight was a bear. Ralof handed Saqho-yol a bow and some arrows, and she killed the bear with one shot.

"Sneaking is over-rated, eh?" He said.

"Nah. Just seeing if I inherited any skill from the last adventurer in my family."

Just up ahead was a bluish light. Ralof beamed when he saw it, and they both bolted for the exit.

The fresh, cool air was wonderful, and Saqho-yol hadn't realized how much she'd hated the dank, dusky air of the caverns. She breathed deeply once, and the Ralof told her to duck. She looked up, and Alduin soared overhead. She watched him go for a few seconds, and then Ralof straightened up.

"Looks like it's gone for good this time." He said. Saqho-yol nodded in reply.

"There's no way to tell if anyone else made it out alive," Ralof continued, "And this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. So we best clear out of here." He started walking down the road, and Saqho-yol trudged after him. The day was starting to catch up with her.

"Where are we headed?" She asked.

"My sister, Gerdur, runs a mill in Riverwood just up the road." And with that, they started a sedate jog down a long and winding path to Riverwood. Along the way, Ralof pointed out several landmarks, the Guardian Stones – Saqho-yol was blessed by the thief, same as Ven'Aak – and Bleak Falls barrow. He chatted along easily enough, carrying most, if not all, of the conversation.

When they got to Riverwood, Saqho-yol was about ready to collapse. After a long but kind chat with Gerdur, she was allowed into her house, where she immediately sat down at the table, and began to write again.

**Morndas, 17****th**** of Last Seed, Riverwood, Nightfall**

_Words cannot express how grateful I am to still be able to write in this. The past two days have been the most harrowing of my life thus far, even surpassing the day my mother died._

_ The Stormcloaks I was staying with got attacked the morning of the 15__th__ by Imperials. I had almost escaped, but they caught me too. I gave in. What else was there to do? Fortunately, they let me keep the small bag with this and my charcoals in it. Apparently it didn't count as valuable or a weapon. Either way, they imprisoned me and the Stormcloaks, and took us to Helgen._

_ I was not two seconds away from losing my head when a _dragon, _apparently named Alduin,_ _appeared out of nowhere and started torching the place. In the confusion, Ralof and I managed to escape through the keep. Ironically enough, I now owe my life to Alduin as much as to Ralof. Gods, what a sight he was. Huge and black as the night sky, with eyes like fire._

_ Ralof tells me that Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm might know where Alduin came from. He also has just asked me to consider joining the Stormcloak rebellion. Apparently, you don't have to be a Nord to fight for freedom. Given that I owe him one, I am considering it._

_ The strangest thing happened though, and I can't stop thinking about it. I said, "Kogaan Akatosh" just before Alduin appeared. Was that my doing? What did I even say? I have a feeling this will be chasing itself around in my head for years._

_S__a__q__ho-__Y__ol_


	3. Chapter 3: Whiterun

**Chapter 3**

Saqho-yol woke at dawn. Nobody was in the house. That suited her just fine, as she gathered what little belongings she had, donned the Stormcloak's cuirass, and buckled the sword belt around her waist. Then, she set out for Whiterun.

It wasn't too long of a jog, particularly since she took a wrong turn and ended up skidding her way down the far side of a hill. It wasn't steep, but she'd rather not have a repeat of the incident with the Alik'r. She found the road again easily, and followed it toward what she presumed was Whiterun. She stopped at a carriage, parked just outside of the stables, and examined the horse. It seemed a good way to get some information about Whiterun from a resident before she tried to deal with a Jarl.

"Do you need a ride?" the carriage driver asked.

"Actually, no. It just struck me what a beautiful horse this is." Saqho-yol said, "But, this is my first time in Whiterun, what can you tell me about the place?"

"Well," the driver leaned back in the seat, thinking, "I know the Companions make their home here. Their mead hall, Jorrvaskr, is the oldest building in the city. Oh, and there's a nasty feud between two families called the Grey-Manes and the Battle-Borns. You'll want to be careful there. The rest you can find out by asking the townsfolk. I'd start with the barkeep at the Bannered Mare, or the castle steward."

Saqho-yol nodded, taking it all in. "Well, thank you for the information. Be seeing you around, I think."

"Until next time."

Saqho-yol jogged up the road, over a drawbridge, and up to the gate. However, a guard stopped her just before she went in.

"Halt! City's closed with dragons about. Official business only."

There wasn't a lot on Saqho-yol's mind, and she said the most prominent matter of business. "I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack." She hoped that would fly.

The guard nodded. "Fine, but we'll be keeping an eye on you." He walked up to the gate and unlocked it, and Sahqo-yol entered Whiterun.

Immediately, she felt safer. Just being inside a wall was enough. Having grown up just outside the hot sands of the Alik'r desert, walls were a symbol to her – they kept the sand out.

"We'll pay whatever it takes. But we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers," said a man in Imperial livery. He was talking to a wiry woman who was either a Redguard or covered in some kind of smelter debris.

"I just can't fill an order of that size on my own." The woman sounded almost desperate. "Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Grey-Mane for help?"

"Ha! I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak." The man said. Saqho-yol raised an eyebrow. This must have been one of the Battle-borns that the carriage driver had been talking about. They must be on different sides then; Battle-Borns were Imperials, and the Grey-Manes were Stormcloak sympathizers. Given that the Imperials had tried to behead her not one day ago, Saqho-yol was wary of helping them.

"Besides," the man continued, "Gray-mane would never make steel for the Legion."

_Sounds like a disease._

"Have it your way," the woman nearly spat, "I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle."

The guard Saqho-yol had been standing next to shook his head and turned to her.

"They say Helgen got hit by a dragon. One of those horrors comes here, we'll be ready."

"I hope so. Oh! Helgen! The dragon!" Saqho-yol took off down the street. She came to what would have been a market, and turned left, circumnavigating a tree, and dashed up a long set of stairs. At the top was a set of double doors. Inside, eight columns formed an isle down the middle of a large room. Saqho-yol jogged up the stairs, and stopped just short of the fire pit in the middle of the floor. From the right, a red headed Dunmer approached cautiously, sword drawn. Saqho-yol stood her ground, but held her hands up, palm out.

"What's the meaning of this interruption?" She said. Her command presence was astonishing, but lacked any kind of hold on Saqho-yol. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

Saqho-yol put her hands down, realizing that the Dunmer was about half a foot shorter than she was, and she didn't want to appear any bigger than she really was.

"I have news from Helgen. About _Aldu_ – er – the dragon attack." She said.

The Dunmer's red eyes grew wide. "Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak with you personally."

She sheathed her sword, and Saqho-yol followed her up the steps. Immediately, the Jarl's attention turned from his adviser to her.

"So," he said, "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Memories of black wings, red eyes, and fire, and the name, all came back to her in a single moment. _Alduin. _She said the first thing she could think of through the flashes of remembered flame on her eyes.

"Yeah... I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head..."

The Jarl looked slightly nonplussed by the outburst. "Really? You're certainly... forthright about your criminal past."

The moment passed, and Saqho-yol looked up sharply. "Uh, oh... wait... I didn't..."

The Jarl must have seen the look on her face, because he smirked. "But, it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen."

Saqho-yol took a deep breath, pushing back the thought of black wings again.

"The dragon destroyed Helgen. And last I saw, it was heading this way." She said.

The Jarl leaned forward in his seat, staring into Saqho-yol's eyes. He was silent for a few moments.

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" He sat back again, and turned to his adviser

"What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

Proventus, a dark skinned man, probably a Breton by the facial features, went absolutely bloodless. He never moved his head from it's nose-up position, which annoyed Saqho-yol slightly.

The Dunmer, who she assumed was Irileth, broke in.

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once." Saqho-yol mentally kicked herself for not thinking of that herself. After all, that was the reason she'd come to Whiterun in the first place.

"It's in the most immediate danger," she said, "If that dragon is lurking in the mountains..."

Proventus finally spoke up, and Saqho-yol could tell, she really didn't like the man. Too much of a politician for her tastes.

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" He said adamantly, "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

Saqho-yol felt the unnatural urge to shout at the man. She was a quiet person, most of the time. Mostly because she always sounded like a young girl when she tried to shout someone down. With as deep a voice as she had, she tended to just lure people into arms reach of her instead.

"Enough!" The Jarl interrupted whatever Saqho-yol was about to say. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!"

Proventus sniffed at the affront to his august person. Jarl Balgruuf turned to Saqho-yol and Irileth.

"Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl." She replied, and jogged out of the keep.

Proventus glared at the Jarl from the corners of his eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties."

Saqho-yol almost blurted, "What duties?" but the Jarl just said, "That would be best." She cheered him on mentally as Proventus sauntered off. The Jarl turned to her.

"Well done," he said. "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I wont forget it." Saqho-yol smiled, a bit sadly perhaps. Had it not been for the Imperials, she might not be here. Ironic.

"Here," the Jarl tossed her a twine-bound package from the side of his throne, "Take this as a token of my esteem."

Saqho-yol stuck the package into the traveling bag she'd picked up from Gerdur, without really looking at it, but she smiled and nodded her thanks.

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone with your particular talents, perhaps." The Jarl said, grinning. "Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

Jarl Balgruuf stood up from the throne and started off toward a room on the east side of the keep. Saqho-yol followed, and had to jog a few times to keep up. Walking in sand required small steps, so she wasn't used to the long strides of the Nords.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in on all the details." The Jarl said, and stopped in front of a desk with all sorts of magical artifacts and strangeness laid out on it. Saqho-yol followed him in, and stood off to the side of the desk.

A guy in a blue robe, with the hood pulled up, turned to her. "So, the Jarl thinks you could be of use to me?" Saqho-yol hoped her surprise at his unidentifiable accent didn't show on her face. "Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons." He nodded, and Saqho-yol raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," he continued, "I could use someone to fetch something for me." The word 'fetch' grated on Saqho-yol's nerves, but she listened.

"Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

"And what in Tamriel does this have to do with dragons?" If she was going to "fetch" anything, she was at least going to find out why she was doing it.

Farengar smirked – not a good look for him. "Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker – perhaps even a scholar?" Saqho-yol smirked and nodded for him to go on. "You see, when the stories of dragons started to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons – where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?"

"Alright... so what do you need me to do?"

Farengar's eyes darted around a bit. "I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow – a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of ancient burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred in the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

Saqho-yol eyed him warily. She remembered Ralof pointing out the barrow when they were making a run for Riverwood. She hadn't a clue as to the history of the place though. She sighed.

"Okay, tell me what you can about Bleak Falls Barrow." She said.

Farengar shrugged. "An old tomb, built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself. Ah, maybe you just want to know how to get there. It's near Riverwood, a miserable little village a few miles south of here."

Saqho-yol stopped listening to him at that point. The urge to shout a man down came back again, and she just tuned him out, fuming. _Miserable little village my ass._

The Jarl broke her out of her funk. "This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late."

Saqho-yol nodded, not speaking, and dashed out of the keep. Whatever either of them said after that, she didn't really care. It was about an hour after dusk outside, if the color of the sky was any indicator. She blew out a breath, which fogged away from her in the wind. The anger and the day's walk caught up to her, and she figured that a rest and a write would do more for her than immediately heading back out to Riverwood.

As she was walking down the long flight of stairs from the keep, Dragonsreach, as she'd heard someone inside say, she about got run over by a brown haired Nord, hell bent for leather. She fell over of course; she was tall but not bulky. The Nord stopped and helped her up.

"Sorry about that. Are you alright?" Saqho-yol nodded. She hadn't recognized the face, but she definitely new the voice. Apparently, the Nord knew her too.

"Hey..." he said, "You're that Redguard. You were at Helgen, weren't you?"

Saqho-yol nodded, and was about to say something when a guard with a torch walked by.

"No lollygagging'." He said.

The Nord rolled his eyes, and patted her shoulder once. He was about to move past, but Saqho-yol stopped him.

"Hang on, weren't you headless the last time I saw you?" She asked.

The Nord snorted a laugh.

"Not in the least. Last you saw me, I was trying not to get my ass torched." He took another step up the stairs, but turned to her.

"Hey, if you're looking for a mug and a bed, the Bannered Mare is just down that way." He said.

"Thanks. Don't let the dragons bite." Saqho-Yol said with a smirk. The Nord chuckled and jogged the rest of the way up the steps.

**Tirdas, 18****th**** of Last Seed, 4E 201, Whiterun**

_I swear, if I hear that damned bard sing "Ragnar the Red" one more time, I'm going to be humming it in my sleep. I'm at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun._

_ It took me a little while longer than it might have to find the city, because I took a wrong turn out of Riverwood and ended up about having a repeat of my encounter with the Alik'r when I had to slide down the side of a hill. Two close shaves with Sovngarde per week is my limit, I think._

_ Jarl Balgruuf was... thankful, I suppose, for the news from Helgen. His housecarl has already sent reinforcements to Riverwood. Meanwhile, I get to go crawling around in some dusty, old, probably spider infested crypt, looking for a stone tablet that might not actually be there, thanks to the Court Arrogant bas- I mean wizard. Joy._

_ On a lighter note, I ran into that Nord from Cyrodiil. Apparently, he wasn't the one who got his head cut off. I find it rather strange that he speaks like a Nord, but doesn't have the Skyrim accent. Of course, I don't know how long he'd been in Cyrodiil, so, no room to judge. I probably sound like I'm from Hammerfell. Either way, I definitely want to get to know that guy. I've never really been in Cyrodiil, and it's my grandmother's home. I want to know what it's like._

_ Time to go. Bard's playing "Ragnar the Red" again._

_S__a__q__ho-__Y__ol_


	4. Chapter 4: Into the Barrow

**Chapter 4**

Saqho-yol jolted into full wakefulness. Visions of fire and darkness. Visions of _Alduin_. They flashed across her eyes and then faded back into the wall of her room in the Bannered Mare. She sighed, and scrubbed some of the tiredness from her face.

"Are you going to haunt me forever, _Alduin?_" She muttered into the silent room.

She got out of bed, finally, and picked the still-unopened package out of her travel bag. She cut the ties on it with one of her swords – she was going to have to get something less ponderous to do small work like that with – and grinned. The Jarl had given her a lovely set of studded armor, that gave off a very subtle aura of power.

It fit just about perfectly – it was maybe a bit large, but nowhere near as big as the Stormcloak cuirass had been. Immediately, she felt stronger somehow. She grinned. _Your doing, Farengar? _She stashed her night clothes into her bag and fastened her sword belt around her waist. The two Imperial swords were steel, and better than anything she'd found thus far, so she kept them.

She nodded her thanks to the barkeep as she headed out of the Bannered Mare, and set off for Riverwood. It was just before dawn, so not many people were out and about. The guard posted outside the Mare saw the swords that she was carrying and snorted a laugh.

"Need a blade? Talk to Adrianne at the forge." He said.

Saqho-yol laughed. "My good sir, you might be psychic. I needed a dagger this morning."

The guard chuckled uneasily at that. "Stay out of trouble, Redguard."

She nodded, and jogged off in the direction of the main gate. If her memory was correct, Adrianne's forge was right next to it. Lo and behold, she was correct, and the wiry little woman was puttering away at the tanning rack. She spotted Saqho-yol as soon as she ran up. Her long years of practice was evident in the way she never stopped working, even as she watched the Redguard.

"I've got some great pieces out here if you're looking to buy, more inside." She said.

Saqho-yol nodded, "Actually, I'm not much of a blacksmith, but I heard you arguing with that Battle-Born guy yesterday, and I wondered if there's any way I could help out."

"Yes, actually," Adrianne sounded pleased for the help. "How about you smith me an iron dagger? Here's everything you need to make one," she handed Saqho-yol an iron ingot and some leather straps and nodded to the forge. "Go ahead."

Saqho-yol nodded, and carefully stepped around Adrianne to get to it. The hammer felt familiar in her hands, and she vaguely remembered days of her youth spent watching her father, Loan, carefully crafting blades and armor for the locals. She remembered the process clearly, as she was always interested in anything her father did and took copious mental notes.

After a few tries and figuring out how to work the forge, she soon was wrapping an iron blade with the leather strips. It wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a serviceable blade.

"Not too shabby," Adrianne called from behind her, "Apprentice level work, but

solid. Keep at it."

The blacksmith walked Saqho-yol through the finer points of making blades and hide armor for about an hour, before she realized she had to go. She bid the smith a fond farewell and promise, mentally anyway, that she'd come back and help with the business some day.

The trip back to Riverwood only took about half the time it took going the other way. She arrived to find everything normal, but Ralof was nowhere to be seen. Saqho-yol shrugged and went about trying to find someone else who could tell her how to get to the barrow. After much wandering about, she figured the Riverwood Trader would probably have at least one adventurer milling about somewhere. Instead, she stepped into a management argument.

"Well one of us has to do something!" A woman shouted at the man behind a desk.

"I said, no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!" He replied stridently.

"Well what are you going to do then, huh? Lets hear it!"

"We are done talking about this," the man glanced in Saqho-yol's direction for the first time since she entered the place, and did a double take.

"Oh, a customer," he stuttered, "Sorry you had to hear that."

The other woman stalked off angrily, as Saqho-yol strode casually up to the desk.

"I don't know what you overheard, but the Riverwood Trader is still open. Free free to shop."

Saqho-yol smirked. "Actually, I overheard a lot. Did something happen?"

The man looked slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, we did have a... break in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold. In the shape of a dragon's claw."

"So," Saqho-yol said, leaning forward on the desk, "What if I told you I could get your claw back?" She mentally slapped herself, because she was probably adding to the sellsword stereotype.

The man looked hopeful enough though. "You could? I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back."

Saqho-yol smiled. "You don't have to pay me, sir. I don't like walking into fights any more than the next guy. I just figured I'd try to resolve it."

The shopkeeper chuckled and nodded in sympathy. "Now, if you're going to catch those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town."

"So this is your plan, Lucan?" Said the woman from behind Saqho-yol.

"Yes, so now you don't have to go, do you?" The man, Lucan, said.

"Oh really? Well I think your new helper here needs a guide."

Saqho-yol just crossed her arms and stared at the sword lying out on the desk, trying not to laugh at the exchange.

"Wh- no... I... Oh, by the Eight, fine. But only to the edge of town!"

Saqho-yol looked over her shoulder when she heard a chair scrape the floorboards, and nodded to the woman. She looked back at Lucan.

"Funny. I was headed up that way anyway and actually came in here looking for a guide. Be seeing you then." She waved and followed the other woman to the door.

"Until next time." Lucan called, somewhat bitterly, behind her.

Outside, Saqho-yol chuckled quietly to herself and gave the small woman a once-over. She didn't look like the type to be out chasing thieves, but, maybe she was a magician and not a fighter.

"So, where are we going?" She asked.

"We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow," the small woman said. "You can see it from here though. The mountain just over the buildings."

The woman started walking, and Saqho-yol followed as she rambled on about the thieves being absolutely crazy for wanting to hide in a crypt. They stopped, Saqho-yol bid the woman adieu, and continued on up the path at a jog. If they were smart bandits, they would have gone by then.

She had a bit of a scare when she came across an actual bandit camp on the way up to the barrow. She dispatched all of them rather quickly, however, and moved on when she found that none of them had the claw with them.

The peaked arches of the barrow were an imposing sight, and Saqho-yol brought out her bow before she was even close to it. The possibility of bandits firing arrows at _her_ was keeping her on her toes. She crept up over the first set of steps, and listened for footfalls. She heard them, a little too late.

A Redguard with an ax came barreling down over the stairs. Saqho-yol dashed backwards, notched an arrow, and fired it into his throat when his arm came up for a slash. He went down fast. The second guy, an Orc with a battle-ax, rushed her, and she fired into his chest plate. It stuck, but did no damage. She dodged as the Orc swung down, and fired into the back of his skull when he galumphed past. An arrow flew past, not two inches from Saqho-yol's nose. She turned, and aimed at the other archer. They both moved, both missed. Saqho-yol gave up trying to shoot and dashed forward with both of her swords drawn instead. An arrow hit her left side. She spun, swinging both of her swords in a wide arc. The archer fell.

Saqho-yol sheathed her blades and pulled the arrow out of her side with a gasp of pain. Blood welled up in the wound, and she pressed her hand against it. She muttered a healing spell, and held onto the comforting warmth for as long as her willpower allowed. It still hurt, that wasn't going away for a while, but she had to figure out which of the bandits has the claw. Upon inspecting all of the bodies, she found that none of them did.

She sighed, and went into the barrow.

She expected a dusty old crypt. She found a half-caved-in cavern with rays of light shining through the ceiling. She heard someone talking up ahead, and moved cautiously forwards, trying not to make noise.

"That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risk our necks."

"What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my share from that claw!"

"Just shut it and keep an eye out for trouble."

_So, the Dunmer has the claw. _Saqho-yol crept around the corner, drawing her bow. She fired at the first Nord that came charging. He dropped to one knee. The other, a woman, became very well acquainted with Saqho-yol's blades. She killed the man before he'd gotten back to his feet. No dark elf in sight, she moved on.

One long series of cavernous tunnels later, Saqho-yol was greeted by the sight of a man pulling a lever and releasing several dozen arrows. On himself. She winced as the guy dropped to the floor.

She walked carefully into the room, wary of traps. Seeing no obvious ones, she relaxed marginally. She wasn't about to pull the lever. To the left were three stone blacks with carvings on them, that looked like they could be moved. In front of the lever was a closed gate, and a carved face with a snake in its mouth. Above the gate were two more of those carvings, another with a snake, and one with what looked like a fish.

Saqho-yol smiled, and rotated the stone blocks to the correct combination. She pulled the lever, and the gate rose open.

"So much for smart bandits." She muttered, and continued on.

She went down a spiral staircase, killed a few skeevers, and then knew she was in trouble. The room was covered in spider webs. She felt her nerves tensing as she jogged along through the passage, and jumped when she heard a voice from somewhere up ahead.

"Is... is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?"

She dashed forward, and stopped just short of an empty doorway covered in cobwebs. She sliced them cleanly away, and stepped through, on the other end of the room was a Dunmer struggling against a binding of webs. Suddenly, the biggest spider she'd ever seen dropped from the ceiling. She immediately drew her bow and fired as it clattered forward.

"Agh! Kill it! Kill it!" The Dunmer shouted.

Adrenaline kicked in, and she dodged to one side as it spat venom. She shot at it again, and ducked behind the doorway. She heard it skitter away, and notched another arrow. She stepped through the door and fired at it again. It came back dashing. She held her ground, and shot it between its mandibles. It collapsed not two feet in front of her. She shuddered at the sheer size of the beast.

"Get me down! Get me down!" The Dunmer was all but sobbing as she jogged across the room.

"Are you Arvel?" Her voice surprised her by staying relatively steady.

He nodded. "You did it. You killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up."

"Where's the claw?" Saqho-yol raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, the claw. I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together. Help me down, and I'll show you. You won't believe the power the Nords have hidden there."

Saqho-yol eyed him warily, but capitulated. "I don't have any idea what you're on about, but, I'll see if I an get you down."

Arvel sighed in relief. "Sweet breath of Arkay, thank you."

Saqho-yol made short work of the webs, but kept her swords drawn. When Arvel tried to run, she stabbed him in the back.

"Word of advice for your next life. Don't run from people with swords." She muttered.

A golden glint on the floor caught her eye, and she picked up the claw. Smiling, and noting the small emblems in the bottom of it, she continued ahead.

She felt vaguely pleased to see that she'd apparently come to the crypt part of the barrow. She wasn't happy at all to find loads of Draugr waiting for her with swords drawn. She dispatched them with minimal injury, and was careful to go around the pressure plate in the floor. _Don't let the door hit you on the way out, _she thought wryly.

She continued on through half a dozen more rooms like this, at least two caverns, and a bridge before finally opening the door into the Hall of Stories. The murals carved into the walls didn't mean anything to her, but she saw the circular door at the far end and jogged for it. It was sealed, but it has an imprint on the inner circle that looked like a dragon's claw would open it. Saqho-yol dug the claw out of her pack and inspected it again. There were three rings on the door, and three circles with animals in them on the bottom of the claw. She set each ring so that they matched the circles on the claw, and then slid the claw into the door, turning it both ways. The door, miraculously, slid into the floor, revealing a tall, wide staircase.

Saqho-yol smiled, and ascended the stairs. At the top was a short hallway that led into a huge cave. She made her way forward, and flinched when a small swarm of bats came rushing at her face. She heard it then, some kind of pulsing voice. It seemed familiar. She crossed a bridge and went up a few steps. The chanting was louder now. The looked to her right, and the words found her.

A curved, stone wall was in front of her, with carved, triangular notches spread evenly along its surface. One set of carvings was giving off an aura. Saqho-yol felt it, and the word chanted to her, calling her to it. She walked forward, slowly, entranced by the word. She came closer. The letters burned their way into her mind, formed pictures. The chanting overwhelmed her suddenly, and the word forced itself into her soul.

Saqho-yol staggered away from the wall. Her vision was blurred. She heard something crack open behind her, and she turned to find a Draugr, in full armor. Blades flashed. The Draugr slumped to the floor. Saqho-yol sheathed her swords again, and nearly fell over when she tried to take a step. There was a deep gash in her left shoulder where it had gotten her. She searched in her pack, found a red potion, and downed it in one go. While she was waiting for it to really take effect, she searched the Draugr and found a peculiar slab of stone, with markings on it. It looked almost like a map of Skyrim, but...

Then, recognition dawned on her.

"Oh yeah," she muttered, "That's what I came in here for." The dryness of her mouth and throat made her voice sound even huskier than usual.

She gently placed the Dragonstone into her bag, and slung it over her uninjured shoulder. She stood up from where she was sitting on the late Draugr's tomb, and looked around for an exit. A staircase led up behind the word wall, and she followed it up into a tunnel. She came to a dead end, with nothing but a lever. She pulled it, and a chunk of stone slid into the ceiling in front of her. She followed the tunnel toward a bluish light.

Saqho-yol emerged from the tunnel, and was nearly blinded by the change in lighting. The crisp air was welcome, and only when she smelled it did she realize how much the barrow stunk. The smell clung to her, mold and dust and rot. She vowed to take a swim should she find a stream on the way back, and she set off for Riverwood, and Whiterun beyond. _Better hurry, _she thought, _the sun's going down._

**Middas, 19****th**** of Last Seed, 4E 201, Dragonsreach**

_ I'm sitting at one of the long tables, resting my feet and legs before I have to go talk to Farengar. He's got a visitor in there and I really don't want to disturb them. I just had a long day of crawling through crypts, killing bandits, spiders, and Draugr. I swear, those bone-walkers need to learn the meaning of the word dead. I bet the Imperials could teach them a thing or twelve. But seriously, I came -this- close to being spider food, and I am still shaking. The cut in my shoulder has healed over pretty well, but it's still a bit tender._

_ So, it turns out that some idiot of a Dunmer had Lucan's claw. That was easy to get. He was happy as a Nord in a blacksmith's shop to have it back, and payed me a nice sum even though I told him not to. I'm not complaining though. I probably need the money._

_ And then there was the wall. I don't have any idea what it is, or who built it, but I still have that pattern of scratch marks stuck in my head. It was almost like it was a word. The weirdest part, though, was that it reminded me of that dragon that attacked Helgen. And it _called _to me. I can still feel it..._

_ Thank you Irileth. Reminded me that I should go see Farengar at my "earliest convenience."_

_S__a__q__ho-__Y__ol_


	5. Chapter 5: Mirmulnir

**Chapter 5**

Saqho-yol shut her journal and stowed it in her bag, sighing as she got up from the table. She glared at Irileth's back before heading in to see Farengar. Of course, the Dunmer had been right, and the Jarl's words came back to her. "This is a priority now," he'd said.

She stopped just outside the court wizard's workroom, and leaned against the door jam.

"You see?" Farengar was talking to a visitor in leather armor and a hood. "The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the dragon war. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with later texts."

_In Tamriellic, please?_

"Good." The woman nodded at whatever was on the desk. "I'm glad we're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

Farengar chuckled. "Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research."

"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back."

_Oh good, someone who likes Farengar even less than I do._

Farengar waved the comment out of the air. "Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable... Now, let me show you something else I found... very intriguing... I think your employers may be interested as well..."

The woman in the leather looked Saqho-yol square in the face, and looked back down at the desk.

"You have a visitor." She said, nonchalantly.

"Hmm?" Farengar finally looked in Saqho-yol's direction. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protege! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

Saqho-yol pushed herself off the door jam and sauntered up next to the desk. She raised an eyebrow at the wizard and pulled the Dragonstone out of her bag.

"No, I didn't. And I don't think the Draugr down there will have any problem staying dead now." She said, handing it over.

Farengar took the stone and gently placed it on the desk, running one hand across the surface as if he could read its secrets that way.

"Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! It seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

"Not to brag, but, yes. I am. What happens now?" Saqho-yol never lost the sarcastic expression.

"That is where your job ends and mine begins. The work of the mind, sadly undervalued in Skyrim." He sighed. "My... associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me."

"Ah. Nice job on that one," Saqho-yol nodded to the other woman.

"So," Farengar turned back to the Dragonstone, "Your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us."

The hooded woman looked up at Saqho-yol. "You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work." The Redguard shrugged.

She said something else that Saqho-yol didn't catch, because Irileth ran in at that moment.

"Farengar!"

Saqho-yol looked over her shoulder at the Dunmer, as if to say, "What now?"

"Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby." Irileth looked at Saqho-yol, who went white as a ghost. "You should come, too."

Farengar, thankfully, distracted Irileth from Saqho-yol's discomfort. The hooded woman made a quick getaway out the door. Irileth started leading Farengar away, and Saqho-yol wordlessly followed. Her mind was full of fire and darkness, and a word.

When she finally got up the stairs, without tripping, thankfully, the Jarl was talking to a guard. He was literally shaking in his boots.

"So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?" Jarl Balgruuf looked calm as usual, although his stance was a bit more rigid, as if he expected a dragon to fly _into _the keep at any moment.

The guard responded formally, "Yes, my lord."

Irileth looked about ready to slap the guy. "Tell him what you told me. About the dragon."

"Uh..." the guard looked back at the Jarl. "That's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I'd ever seen."

The Jarl's hands clenched at his sides. "What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?"

"No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fat in my life... I thought it would come after me for sure."

"Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it. Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."

"I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate."

"Good. Don't fail me." The Jarl turned to Saqho-yol. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here. But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avennici that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. And please, accept this gift from my personal armory." The Jarl handed her a wrapped package. She smiled and stowed it in her bag.

"I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon." Farengar said. Saqho-yol started following Irileth without a word.

"No." Saqho-yol turned at the Jarl's tone. He was angry. "I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."

The look on Farengar's face was priceless. "As you command."

"One last thing, Irileth." The Jarl said. Irileth turned around, and he continued, "This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."

Just the fact that he had to remind her of that, gave Saqho-yol pause. Irileth's answer wasn't encouraging either.

"Don't worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution."

Irileth, contradicting the statement, took off running down the stairs. Saqho-yol shrugged and followed.

"I'll keep her out of trouble, don't worry." She said over her shoulder, and ran after Irileth. Farengar tried to say something to her, but she just barreled past him. Saqho-yol and Irileth made a mad dash through Whiterun, and stopped in front of four guardsmen. Time was of the essence when dealing with dragons, but the concept still made Saqho-yol nervous.

"Here's the situation." Irileth apparently wanted to start things off with a speech, "A dragon is attacking the western watchtower."

A wave of distressed mutterings passed through the guards.

"You heard right! I said a dragon! I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

"But Housecarl," one of the guards said, "How are we supposed to fight a dragon?"

"That's a fair question. None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to face one in battle." Saqho-yol coughed loudly. "But we are honorbound to fight it. This dragon is threatening our homes... our families. Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

_You've got ME right next to you, _Saqho-yol though, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"But it's more than our honor at stake here. Think of it – the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age." _Have you not heard about Helgen?_ "The glory of killing it is ours, if your with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?"

The guardsmen gave hearty cheers of approval, and Irileth led the guards and Saqho-yol out the main gate. Having no idea where the western watchtower might have been, Saqho-yol had no choice but to hang back and travel with the group. Otherwise, she might have just dashed ahead. It seemed like the only Dunmer she'd met lately had been arrogant and gone back on promises.

The watchtower was hardly recognizable as a functioning guardhouse by the time they got to it. Pieces of stone walling and pathway were scattered about every which way. There were even a couple of fires burning.

"_Alduin..._" Saqho-yol whispered.

"No signs of any dragon right now," Irileth said, "But it sure looks like he's been here."

She turned to the soldiers and the Redguard. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with."

Saqho-yol drew both of her swords, and immediately headed for one of the intact chunks of ramp. If anyone survived, they'd be in the tower. Sure enough, a guard came creeping out from behind the wall when he heard her. He was missing his helmet.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Saqho-yol asked.

"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it." The helmet-less guard said. His eyes were flitting everywhere like a caged bird.

Saqho-yol pulled out her bow and started scanning the sky as Irileth interrogated the poor man.

Then, one of the guards saw something. "Kynareth save us, here it comes again."

The great beast flew right over the tower, its scales shone silver in the light of the two moons. Saqho-yol notched an arrow and sent it flying. The dragon's wings beat it away harmlessly. It started hovering, and she notched another arrow.

"_Yol... Toor..."_

And she let it fly. It hit the dragon's chest armor. Flames came in her direction, and she felt them sear her arms and torso as she ducked behind the wall. She dashed up the stairs and emerged on the roof of the tower. The dragon passed right overhead, the downdraft nearly sweeping her off the tower. She ran to the edge and looked down, only to get nearly blasted again. She dashed back down the stairs, and fired at it from the window. She barely nicked its wing as it passed. One of the guards hit it square though, and it circled once before landing with a thundering _BOOM._

Saqho-yol sheathed her bow and dashed down the stairs as fast as she could. She headed toward where the dragon was. It let loose a fireball, and she unsheathed both of her swords. Her adrenaline, and something else, was pushing her on. She slashed at the dragon's mouth as it went to breathe fire at her, and it reared its head back.

"_Brit grah_. I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!" The dragon said.

Saqho-yol grimaced at the beast, and shouted, "Sport? _Wah tuzi mah, Dovah!_"

As it tried to snap at her again, she batted its snout away. She ran under it and jumped up onto its head, using one of its horns for leverage. She held on just behind its eyes with her knees and one hand, and slashed at it. Once. Twice. Then, she stabbed it through the eye, and jumped off.

The dragon roared, rearing up on its hind feet. "_Dovahkiin! _No!"

The dead dragon crashed to the ground, and Saqho-yol stood over it, burns and cuts stinging, muscles screaming, in wicked triumph. Something inside her stirred, and then, before her eyes, the dragon's body started to disintegrate. Chunks of scaly flesh tore free of the bone, and floated skyward, turning to ash as they went. The force in Saqho-yol rose, just below the surface of her skin, and the dragon's body burst into flames. Then the shockwave hit her.

The fire on the body turned into a whirlwind of power and thought, and slammed into and through the Redguard. All thoughts of self control, all sense of surrounding, disappeared. It was only Saqho-yol and the dragon.

_Drem yol lok, Saqho-yol_

_Zu'u Mirmulnir. _

_I have fallen to the Fus – the force – of your will and your blade. _

_Battle on, Dovahkiin. _

_Alduin will fall to the power of your Thu'um._

They were one for a time, and then the voice of the dragon faded, and Saqho-yol came back to reality. She could still feel the fire in her. And the word. _Fus. _Force.

One of the guards startled her by running up behind her with a torch. Everything seemed brighter to her for some reason.

"I can't believe it!" He said. "You're... Dragonborn..."

Saqho-yol shook her head. She couldn't think straight. "Excuse me... what?"

"In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons, and steal their power," he explained, slowly. "That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"

Saqho-yol looked at her hands. In the torchlight, the shadows of her long fingers made it look like flames were dancing in her palms.

"Honestly... I don't know." She replied in her usual tone. If her voice had a little more burr to it than normal, the guard either didn't notice or didn't care.

"There's one way to find out. Try to Shout... that would prove it."

At Saqho-yol's look of complete confusion, he explained. "According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without training, the way dragons do."

Another guard walked over and apparently overheard part of the conversation. "Dragonborn, what are you talking about?"

While they discussed, Saqho-yol pondered Shouting. Was that was the dragons did to breathe fire? She couldn't do anything like that. _Mirmulnir said Fus, force. Is that a shout? _Questions rambled through her mind at a blinding rate, and she wasn't coming up with any answers. She sighed, and stopped tuning out the guards.

"... But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me." Irileth said. She kicked the late Mirmulnir's skull.

"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord." One of the guards said.

The Dunmer huffed. "I've been all across Tamriel. I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this." She looked Saqho-yol square in the face and said, "I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."

Saqho-yol's blood burned. _Legend, huh?_ She thought the word, heard it how Mirmulnir said it. The fire rose in her again, and this time, it exploded out of her in a single Shout.

"_FUS!_"

The air itself rippled as the Force flew through it. Irileth staggered backward, and nearly fell.

"Can a sword arm cleave _that_, Irileth?" Saqho-yol smirked in the Dunmer's direction.

The guards were nearly speechless.

"That was Shouting, what you just did! Must be. You really are Dragonborn, then..."

Saqho-yol nodded, slowly, looking at the skeleton of the dragon. Apparently, her great grandfather's blood ran strong in her veins. Dragon blood.

It occurred to her, finally, that she really should apologize to Irileth. Given that she was the Jarl's Housecarl, and she could make every stay in Whiterun torturous. She jogged over to the Dunmer and held out her hand.

"I am so sorry about that, Housecarl. I lost control and..." Saqho-yol stopped as Irileth shook her head.

"That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. I don't know about this Dragonborn business, but I'm sure glad you're with us. You'd better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here."

Saqho-yol nodded, and started running. However, Mirmulnir's skeleton caught her eye, and she stopped. She bent and stroked the skull above the horn.

"Thank you. Rest now, _Mirmulnir_." She whispered, and took off at a jog toward Whiterun. Just outside the gate, a sound like thunder ripped through the sky. Voices came with it.

"_Dov... Ah... Kiin!" _Saqho-yol felt a shiver go down her spine. Dovahkiin... Dragonborn. She dashed for Dragonsreach.

She was severely out of breath by the time she was through the door, and took a moment to compose herself as best she could under the circumstances. She ran through the details of the fight, at least the ones she was willing to tell anyone, over and over as she forced herself not to run. As it was, she walked with a small hop in her step.

Proventus intercepted her. "Good. You're finally here. The Jarl's been waiting for you."

Behind him, the Jarl was speaking to a tall, heavy man in scaled armor. "You heard the summons. What else could it mean?"

Proventus stepped aside, and Saqho-yol all but jumped up the four steps to the throne.

"The Greybeards..." The Jarl was staring off into Aetherius as she approached. The man he was talking to stopped her, probably stalling for the Jarl.

"We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you." he said.

"So I've heard." She replied evenly.

The Jarl composed himself and looked up. "So, what happened at the watchtower? Was the Dragon there?"

"The watchtower was destroyed, unfortunately, but the dragon is now dead."

"I knew I could count on Irileth." The Jarl smiled, but stopped when he saw the look on Saqho-yol's face. "But there must be more to it than that."

"Yes... I killed it. And then it... I..." She struggled for a way to explain what had happened but gave up. "I guess I'm a Dragonborn or something."

The Jarl's eyes went wide. "Dragonborn? What do you know about the Dragonborn?"

"I know my great grandfather was one. And I know that the dragon, Mirmulnir, gave me his power because I was the one who put him to rest." She looked at the floor, as she realized she was all but Shouting at the Jarl of Whiterun. "Sorry..."

"So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you."

Saqho-yol looked up. "The Greybeards?"

"Masters of the way of the voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World."

Saqho-yol almost said, "Why would anyone want to live up on a frozen cliff," but settled for, "And why are they summoning me of all people?"

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice – the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

The man next to Saqho-yol spoke up then. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in... centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora."

"Hrongar, calm yourself." Proventus said from the Jarl's left side, "What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this, what, 'Dragonborn'."

For a moment, Saqho-yol though she was going to lose control again. In fact, she actually considered giving Proventus proof of her blood by knocking him into the wall with her voice. However, she bit down on the word forming in her throat and settled for a glare instead. _This piece of "Nord nonsense" just saved your city from Mirmulnir's wrath, you ignorant whelp!_ She blinked in surprise at her own forcefulness. Or maybe that had been the dragon speaking.

Apparently, Hrongar was of a mind with her.

"Nord nonsense?" He bellowed, "Why you puffed-up ignorant... these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"

"Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci." The Jarl held up a hand to stall any further comment from his brother and Saqho-yol.

"I meant no disrespect of course," Proventus continued, "It's just that... what do these Greybeards want with her?"

The Jarl raised an eyebrow in the adviser's direction. "That's the Greybeards business. Not ours."

Saqho-yol crossed her arms and muttered, "I'm a Redguard and even _I_ knew that." She caught Hrongar with it, and he covered up a laugh by clearing his throat. She smirked.

The Jarl turned to the Redguard in question then. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor."

The Jarl got a far away look in his eyes, and Saqho-yol tuned him out while she tried to figure out how she'd get up the side of a mountain to meet a bunch of monks with loud voices.

Hrongar nudged Saqho-yol with an elbow, and she looked up at the Jarl as if she'd been paying attention the whole time.

"You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant." Saqho-yol stared at him, dumbstruck, but he wasn't done yet.

"I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office." He handed her an iron war ax that chilled her fingers when she touched the blade of it. She slung it onto her back, through the straps in her pack that would have held a walking stick under normal circumstances.

"I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to thing you're part of the common rabble, now would we?" He said, with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. Saqho-yol chuckled, and bowed to the Jarl in acceptance of the title.

"We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn." He said.

"The honor is mine, Jarl Balgruuf."

She turned, as gracefully as she could, and walked proudly out of Dragonsreach. She shut the big door behind her without looking at it. She took two steps, and stared out at the sleeping city of Whiterun. Then, the day caught up with her. She fell to her knees, and let out a small sob. She wasn't sure if it was because of the yet-unhealed burns, or exhaustion, power, or the fact that she'd just killed a dragon.

"You had quite the day, eh?"

Saqho-yol looked over her shoulder at the brown-haired Nord from Cyrodiil. He smiled, a bit sadly perhaps, and took a seat next to her.

"I had one of those myself. Passed out from a concussion, woke up to find my leg in a wolf's mouth. Today I was supposed to set out for Hag's end, but I got caught by Adrianne, said she needed help." He chuckled. "How can you beat that?"

Saqho-yol sighed. "Well, got up a dawn, headed into a dusty, moldy, Draugr infested barrow to fetch some kind of stone for the court wizard, came back to find that a dragon was attacking a watchtower. Went out with Irileth and some guards, killed him, was granted his power or soul or something, nearly Shouted the Housecarl to death, came back, was summoned by the Greybeards, and was named Thane of Whiterun. Oh yeah, and I'm now walking in my great grandfather's footsteps, because I'm apparently a Dragonborn too."

The Nord seemed shocked at the recitation, and just stared at her for a few moments.

"And I didn't even tell you about the giant spider I found in the barrow." She said with a small smile.

The Nord laughed and clapped her on the shoulder with one hand.

"Well, I think that beats my day." He looked at her seriously. "What was his name?"

"Who, the spider?"

The Nord chuckled again. "No, the dragon."

Saqho-yol stared at him for a few seconds, trying to decide if he was serious. He saw her staring and looked out at Whiterun.

"I heard _Alduin_ say his. I wanted to know if all dragons had names." He said softly.

"You heard it? You heard _Alduin? _Back at Helgen?"

He nodded. They were both silent for a few minutes.

"_Mirmulnir._"

The Nord looked at Saqho-yol, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"That was his name. _Mirmulnir._ He taught me how to Shout, I think."

The Nord smiled. "He awakened the Dragon blood in you."

Saqho-yol looked at him. "You know how this all works, do you?"

The Nord shook his head, and clapped her on the shoulder again. "My name's Breydon, Dragonborn. It's an honor to know you."

"Saqho-yol. The honor's all mine." She smiled. "I heard you talking on the way to Helgen. What's it like in Cyrodiil?"

Breydon looked over and laughed. "Saqho-yol, your great grandfather was Martin Septim, and you've never been to Cyrodiil?"

Saqho-yol shook her head. "How'd you guess?"

"Not many Dragonborn old enough to be your great grandfather. And you have his face." He chuckled. "Had you been any paler, I'd have taken you for an Imperial, not a Redguard. And your eyes... you've got a Nord's eyes. Blue as the sky and bright as a flame. It's no wonder the Jarl named you Thane of Whiterun. But, Cyrodiil. It's a nice enough place, although after the Oblivion crisis, the Empire, and the Imperial City, started going downhill..."

As Breydon talked, Saqho-yol found herself relaxing. The day's wear finally took its toll on her, and she collapsed into sleep on the Nord's shoulder.

**Turdas, 20****th**** of Last Seed, 4E 201, Whiterun**

_I just woke up and found myself in the Bannered Mare, with no memory of how I got here. I guess I was so tired by the time I got here I didn't remember checking in._

_ Well, I'm shaken to the core. Apparently, I'm a Dragonborn. Just like my great grandfather. A dragon attacked Whiterun while I was talking to Farengar and his 'associate,' and I end up out by the western watchtower with Irileth and a squad of guards. We killed... a _dragon._ And then it and me... it was like it became me, and I became it. Well, him. Mirmulnir was his name. He taught me how to use the Voice. He taught me Fus – force. One of the guards afterwords asked me if I could Shout, and, being a generally quiet person, I was very hesitant. But then Irileth said something... and I Shouted at her. It was amazing. To be able to wield such a power..._

_ And then, as I was returning to Whiterun, the Greybeards apparently summoned me. They and Mirmulnir both called me, _"Dovahkiin."_ It means Dragonborn, I think. Then the Jarl named me Thane of Whiterun._

_ Oh... that's how I got here. I ran outside, and collapsed on the edge of the stair, and that Nord from Cyrodiil found me. He must have carried me here or something. What was his name again... Brendon? No, not quite. Ah well. I have to go head for Ivarstead today, and I want to get a head start._

_S__a__q__ho-__Y__ol_


End file.
